Nar Shadaa Style
by Kitterpillar
Summary: KotOR2: Atton finally gets the Exile drunk enough to play cards his way.


Author's Notes: Another one-shot in answer to the KFM challenge titled "The Full Monty." Stories had to involve nudity of some sort. XD

Exiled Jedi Jennyl Arren drew another pazaak card and set it down, taking another swig of juma juice. "Five plus fifteen is," she giggled. "Twenty. Alright, flyboy, lose the shirt."

The scoundrel scowled and complied, removing his white over-shirt, revealing the top half of his maroon slipsuit. He tossed it onto the pile of clothes containing his jacket, gauntlets and boots and her cloak and boots. After much juma and cajoling, he'd finally convinced the Exile to play pazaak, Nar Shaddaa style. They sat on the floor of the cockpit, drinking and playing.

_And I'm losing too…_ Atton thought, reshuffling the deck. _Of course, my luck always turns around…_ He drew a ten and set down.

"Alright, babe, it's your turn."

Jennyl blushed and drew a three. Atton drew a six and threw down a +4 card. "Pure pazaak!" He grinned smugly.

The Exile frowned and drew a nine, a three, and a seven, equaling twenty two, a bust, and no negative cards in her hand. "Dammit," she muttered.

"Tunic, my dear Jen, tunic," he commanded, grin getting wider. Jennyl muttered something uncomplimentary about his parentage, but undid her belt and pulled it off, mussing her blonde hair.

"My, but this is starting to feel familiar," Atton commented, staring appreciatively at her tight brown slipsuit.

"Too bad we're missing the force cage," Jennyl muttered, drawing a six. The scoundrel followed up with an eight. She then drew a nine and laid down the +3 in her hand, totaling nineteen. "I'll hold."

Atton drew a four and a nine, twenty-one and bust. The Exile grinned at her luck which quickly reversed when he laid down a -1 card. "Trousers, if you please."

"You son of a kath hound…" Jennyl growled, and climbed to her feet. "I bet you're cheating, counting cards or something."

The scoundrel chuckled as she tossed her pants into the pile of discarded clothes. "I am always counting cards. How is tonight any different?" he asked, winking, and then his gaze drifted down to her long, thin legs. "Wow, I'm really feeling the deja vu tonight."

"Shut up and deal," she snarled, taking another swig of the juma.

"I had no idea Jedi were allowed to drink so much," Atton commented innocently and ducked under a Force-flung boot. "All right, all right!"

Jennyl drew a ten, and Atton a four. She followed up with an eight and tossed down a +2. "Pure pazaak, flyboy. Beat that," she said smugly, just knowing he was about to get his due.

The scoundrel scowled and drew a five, two, three, and then busted with a ten, hitting twenty-four. "Sithspit!"

She chuckled. "Pants off, Atton."

"You know," he said, stripping down to his own slipsuit. "You didn't have to play pazaak with me to get my pants off," he finished with a lecherous grin. Another boot flew at his head and Atton fell trying to dodge it, caught up in his pants. "That was uncalled for," he muttered, taking a drink from his nearly empty glass.

Jennyl contrived to look innocent and poured him another glass. "Looks like the next hand decides it."

"Maybe, maybe not…"

Atton started with a nine, Jennyl a four. He then drew a two, she a five. "Pretty close match," she commented, sipping her drink.

"You ain't seen nothing yet, babe," he said, drawing a seven and tossing down a +2. "Pure pazaak."

"Don't count your kinrath before they hatch, flyboy," she countered, drawing a ten and adding her +1. "We never did decide what happens in the case of a tie."

"Oh, that's easy. House wins," he said, grinning ear to ear.

"Atton, I'm not drunk enough to believe that ronto scrag," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Ok, fine, you don't have to believe me, but its in the official Nar Shaddaa handbook…" he countered, lazily waving the datapad in the air. She grabbed it away from him and scanned it over.

"Force take you," she muttered, fumbling with the clasp on the back of her slipsuit. "Dammit, its stuck."

Atton put his arms around her. "Then let me help, I don't mind," he chuckled. He undid the clasp and slid the suit around her shoulders as she did the same. "Oh, someone's being naughty," he whispered in her ear.

"Then I guess you'll just have to punish me," she replied, and then both were quiet as they locked into a passionate embrace, brought on by the closeness of their proximity and the consumption of enough juma to put any three normal humans under the table.

So were they within their passions, neither noticed the cockpit door sliding open and the Disciple stepping in.

"Excuse me, the others wanted to make sure you were alright since you've been in here… all… oh… dear…" Mical said, gradually taking in the scene of the pile of clothes, scattered pazaak cards, and empty bottles of juma, leading up to the Jedi and her scoundrel passionately kissing with their slipsuits around their heels.

He blushed redder than a kinrath's eye and averted his gaze as the two star-crossed lovers finally took notice of him. "I'll… uh… I'll just b-be going n-now," Mical stammered and stumbled back out of the room.

Down the hall in the security room, Bao-Dur and Mira sat laughing at the display. "That was evil, Mira, sending him up there," Bao-Dur said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Yeah, it was," she admitted. "But you know what the worst part of it all is?"

"What?" the Zabrak asked.

"I got that whole thing on tape!"


End file.
